


But He Does It So Well

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 14:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6661663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BFF fill. Bellamy sees an ad from an art student asking for a model who thinks they look like Lucifer. Obviously, he's got to find out what's up with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But He Does It So Well

**Author's Note:**

> Request was for fic based on [this post](http://thestarsjustblinkforus.tumblr.com/post/140060625755/knitmeapony-bamf-happens-imagine-your-otp), ftr!

In general, Bellamy is one of those people who knows how to make money. He's always been good at picking up chances to earn a couple extra bucks, because he knows a couple bucks _count_. Even now, when he's got a scholarship and financial aid and loans, and his mom's current boyfriend seems pretty serious about them and willing to help out his sister, it doesn't mean they're set for life. He's always checking Craigslist and classified ads for things he can do, and he's gotten to see some amazing and weird shit in his years of obsessively seeking out money-making opportunities.

This is his new favorite, though.

It's an ad in the daily bulletin, which, as far as Bellamy knows, no one but him even _reads_. There's a section called _Miscellaneous_ that has always has tons of weird shit, so Bellamy loves it. Thanks to that section, Bellamy has had roles in fifteen student films, ranging from background extra to leading man, for a total wage of $100 and about a week of free meals, gone home with someone for Thanksgiving as a fake boyfriend to get a junior's family used to the idea of his homosexuality, and helped out with more surveys and psychological tests than he can count. It gives him a lot of great stories that are great for vetting potential hookups, too, because anyone who thinks _Listen to this hilarious psych experiment I participated in_ isn't a great conversation starter isn't the kind of person he would get along with anyway.

The ad is short and simple: _Art student doing piece on fall of Lucifer. If you think you look like Lucifer, email cvg18@ark.edu._

It does not contain his favorite phrase, _compensation provided_ , but he is, honestly, kind of curious what cvg18 thinks Lucifer looks like. He thinks he _could_ look like Lucifer. He's definitely a great model, if he does say so himself; it's one of the things he does more, because there are lots of art students, and he has excellent lines, stellar cheekbones, and doesn't mind doing nudity. So modeling all by itself, absolutely? But he's not convinced he really screams _Lucifer_. And, honestly, it doesn't really feel like his call, in this case. He's not the artist.

So there's only one way to find out.

 

**To:** cvg18@ark.edu  
**From:** bbb16@ark.edu  
**Subject:** Satan  
What do you think Satan looks like? I think that's more important than what I think Satan looks like.

 

**To:** bbb16@ark.edu  
**From:** cvg18@ark.edu  
**Subject:** Re: Satan  
I'm going with Lucifer because when I asked my friends, they said they saw Satan as a red guy with horns and a pitchfork, and that's really not what I'm going for in this piece. And I don't know. If I knew what I thought Lucifer looked like, I would have been more helpful. Do you think you're a good candidate, or is this just a general theological inquiry?

Clarke Griffin  
Ark University Class of 2018  
Sent from my iPhone

 

**To:** cvg18@ark.edu  
**From:** bbb16@ark.edu  
**Subject:** Re: Satan  
Is there compensation involved in being Lucifer, or just the satisfaction of knowing you think I look like the actual devil?

 

**To:** bbb16@ark.edu  
**From:** cvg18@ark.edu  
**Subject:** Re: Satan  
Asking if I'm going to pay you before you've sent a name or a headshot is the most satanic thing that's happened in any email I've gotten since putting up that ad, so I like you, bbb. Fifteen dollars an hour. Do you have a headshot?

Clarke Griffin  
Ark University Class of 2018  
Sent from my iPhone

 

**To:** cvg18@ark.edu  
**From:** bbb16@ark.edu  
**Subject:** Re: Satan  
Here's a selfie, which is what you get when you're soliciting random comp sci majors using the student bulletin. Who has a headshot, honestly?

And it's Bellamy.

 

**To:** bbb16@ark.edu  
**From:** cvg18@ark.edu  
**Subject:** Re: Satan  
Hi, Bellamy. I like that you photoshopped in the devil horns, that's a nice touch. Do you have contacts? I like the glasses but they don't really fit with the classical look. I guess if you've got less hipster frames that would work too. Something classy. Maybe wire-rimmed.

Clarke Griffin  
Ark University Class of 2018  
Sent from my iPhone

 

**To:** cvg18@ark.edu  
**From:** bbb16@ark.edu  
**Subject:** Re: Satan  
I do have contacts, yeah. But thanks for judging my glasses, I'm always into that.

 

**To:** bbb16@ark.edu  
**From:** cvg18@ark.edu  
**Subject:** Re: Satan  
Sorry, my art does involve some amount of judging you. Nudity will be involved, and it's a sculpture, so it's going to take a while. Hence the compensation. But if you're still interested, I was hoping to get started this weekend? I'm pretty flexible with scheduling.

Clarke Griffin  
Ark University Class of 2018  
Sent from my iPhone

 

**To:** cvg18@ark.edu  
**From:** bbb16@ark.edu  
**Subject:** Re: Satan  
Yeah, that all works for me. I work until one on Saturday and Sunday, free after that. Just tell me where and when.

*

Clarke Griffin apparently has a studio space where he works, in an old warehouse off campus, and Bellamy is only a little worried he's going to get murdered there when he sees it. It's an old industrial district, which means there aren't many people around, so it's probably actually pretty safe. If he encounters another person here, he will probably die, but his odds of that happening are pretty low, so he'll probably live through the day.

He locks his bike to a streetlight near the address Clarke gave him. It's a semi-refurbished factory with a beat-up sign reading _Trikru Art Space, studios available_ , which doesn't really make him feel better. Clarke Griffin is really working the budget option; he should pay his models less and spend the extra cash on a place where no one will get shivved. But it's his life. Bellamy's not going to judge.

There's an intercom on the door and the third button says _C. Griffin_ , so Bellamy hits it. There's no indication anything actually _happened_ , no audible buzzing or anything, but it's only a few seconds before a pretty, vaguely familiar blonde girl opens the heavy door.

"Hey," she says.

"Hi. I'm here to see Clarke Griffin?"

"And I'm Clarke Griffin," she says, offering her hand. "Bellamy?"

"Yeah, Bellamy Blake."

She cocks her head, considering. "You work at the library, right? I thought you looked familiar."

"Oh, yeah," he says, shaking his head. He's definitely seen her around, although she never takes anything out, just sits in a carrel with a pile of her own books and her earbuds in. He thought she was pre-med, based on her reading material, but apparently she also does sculpture on the side.

"You okay?" she asks.

"No offense, but from your name and your email signature, I was expecting a douchey frat guy."

She actually laughs at that. "What about my email signature says _douchey frat guy_?"

"I don't know. Having an email signature at all? It's a vibe. I assumed you were in finance doing art on a whim."

"Nope." She opens up the door to her studio and holds it for him. "Involved in a constant war with my mother about how she's not going to pay for me to get a useless degree, so I'm currently doing pre-med and art."

"Huh," he says. "Well, sorry for assuming you were a different kind of douchebag, I guess."

She laughs again, and he's glad he read her right; he likes people who laugh when he's a dick. "Yeah, I get that a lot. I know you're a comp-sci major with hipster glasses who works at the library, so I feel like I've got you pegged."

"Joke's on you, I've got layers."

"My bad. Speaking of layers, how naked are you willing to get? I'll show you the sketches, I think you can leave your underwear on, but it would be, um--"

"It's better for you if I'm naked? I get that a lot."

She snorts softly, but she's distracted looking through some untidy piles of papers, and Bellamy takes the opportunity to look around. For all the building itself is terrifying, he actually likes Clarke's art space. It's bright and open, full of partially finished charcoal sketches and paintings and text books. There's a battered couch and coffee table, half-empty mugs of coffee everywhere, and it looks like Clarke practically lives her, when she doesn't live at the library.

"Here," she says, pulling his attention back to her. She hands over a sketch, and Bellamy's surprised to see the figure actually looks a little like him, curly hair and the same basic build. 

"Did you do this after you saw my picture, or do I just really look like Satan to you?"

"Good question, you should think about that really hard."

He has to smile. It's not a bad pose, although it involves being kind of twisted up. The figure is definitely very naked, and he's pretty sure she'll want to sculpt something for both his dick and his ass, so--

"How would this work if I wasn't naked?"

"I'm not really worried about the exact position of your penis," she says, with casualness that sounds a little forced. "I think I can use my imagination."

"I don't mind. I told you I was fine with it."

"Are you sure? I thought your willingness to be naked might have been based on thinking I was a guy."

"Nah. I'm basically willing to get naked in front of anyone anytime," he says. "Just tell me when."

Her eyes flick up and down his body, just for a second, which is also pretty awesome. He's into guys, but he had no particular interest in the kind of guy he assumed Clarke Griffin was. But Clarke Griffin as a disorganized, kind of rude girl with her hair up in an untidy braid, wearing a paint-stained gray tank top and ripped jeans is really right up his alley.

"Do you do this a lot?" she asks.

"Get naked? Daily. Sometimes more than once a day."

"Modeling."

"Yeah, pretty often. Assume I'm broke and like money. You have the highest going rate I've ever seen, so feel free to call me any time."

"I'm glad I'm getting the best." She worries her lip, and he wonders how often _she_ does this. For all her confidence, it doesn't really seem like she gets naked people in here that often. 

But the sketch is cool and she has a giant pile of clay, so he still doesn't mind spending the day getting paid to hang out with no clothes on. If he ever _really_ needs cash, he'd make a great actual prostitute.

"Is the temperature okay?" she asks.

"I'm fine," he tells her, a little gentle. He can't help it; he worries about people. "I can get undressed while you get set up?"

"Sure," she says. _Getting set up_ , in her world, involves getting him some water and tortilla chips, like she's a hostess instead of an artist, and not looking at him while he strips off his shirt and jeans. Which is cute, but will probably get awkward fast if it keeps being a problem, given there's not much point in posing for someone if they're unable to look at you.

Once he's naked, he feels a little weird, but he knows from experience that the feeling will pass. He's here to do a job, and being naked is part of that job.

"So, do you want to pose me or I just use the sketch as a guide and figure it out?"

He can see Clarke actively steeling herself, which makes him smile. But when she comes over, she's a professional, and the look she gives him is cool and appreciative without being, well, _appreciative_. 

"I've got you." Her hands are rougher than expected, probably because she's an artist, and she gets him how she wants him with quick, professional efficiency, even brushing his hair into the proper order. She has her own glasses on now, delicate silver frames he hasn't seen before, and he has to admit, they're a lot cuter than his hipster ones. But they're probably more expensive, too. "Comfortable?" she asks, when she steps back.

"Sure."

"You've done this before, so I assume you'd know if you were going to fall over in an hour or something."

"If I do, it'll be a surprise for me too." And then he feels bad, so he adds, "It's fine, Clarke. Don't worry about it. I'll let you know if I'm starting to flag."

"Okay," she says. "I'm going to put on music? Feel free to express positive or negative opinions, as long as you don't move too much."

"No problem," he says. "I'll try not to dance."

The music is better than he expected, ranging from unobjectionable to genuinely good, which is nice, because Clarke gets in the zone fast and isn't really up for conversation. Not that he needs her. He's got a decent view out the window, and since they're in the middle of nowhere, he's not worried about anyone else seeing him. It's weirdly nice, honestly. He tends to have trouble taking time off, even when he theoretically could, and for the most part even easy jobs like this still don't feel like a break. But the music is nice, and Clarke hums along as she works, absent, and it's easy to zone out and think about the code he has to work on and the stuff he's doing later, but at a distance. With less stress.

Mostly, he watches Clarke. The sculpture is smaller than he expected, and she works on it slowly and deliberately, somehow at odds with her haphazard appearance. She bites her lip as she concentrates, gets clay in her hair when she pushes it away from her face, and is just generally kind of adorable. And, okay, occasionally she leans over in such a way that makes his dick twitch, because that tank top should be _illegal_ on her, but it's just a twitch, and he doesn't have any trouble reminding himself that now is really not the time.

He only realizes how late it's gotten when his stomach rumbles, and he sees it's getting dark and he should probably eat and get back to his actual life.

"Clarke," he says. " _Clarke_."

She startles up. "What?"

"I need food to live."

"Oh," she says, looking around herself. "Shit. What time is it?"

"I don't know. Lucifer doesn't wear a watch."

She grabs her phone off the table and checks it. "Fuck, it's almost eight. I'm really sorry. Can I take a couple photos of you? And I'll buy you pizza if you want. Unless you just need to go."

He has to smile. "Take the pictures first, I want to scratch all parts of my body as soon as possible."

Clarke snaps a few pictures from different angles, checks her phone to make sure they came out decently, and then nods. "Okay, yeah, good. You probably don't have to come back? Just the photographs and what I've got should be fine."

"Whatever you need," he says, tugging on his boxers and then scratching his arm. He'd been lying about his whole body itching, but as soon as he said it, it became true, so joke's on him. "I don't mind coming back."

"Yeah, but I can't afford you."

He grins. "You set the price. I would have done it for less."

"Live and learn. So, you want pizza?"

He really should get back. He has shit to do. But he has a personal policy to never turn down free food, and she's cute. "I like pizza," he says, and she grins.

*

The next time he sees Clarke, it's at his Tuesday shift at the library. Instead of dragging her giant pile of books directly to her carrel, like she usually does, she takes a quick detour to the checkout desk and gives him a big smile. He could get used to this new arrangement.

"Hey, Satan," she says, easy.

"Hey, artist."

"Your title is a lot cooler than mine. I should have thought of that."

He shrugs one shoulder. "I wasn't going to tell you how to do your job. How's the sculpture going?"

"Really well. It's looking nice."

"Thanks."

She laughs. "Yeah, doesn't take after you at all," she teases, and he grins.

"Ouch. So you don't need me back?"

"Probably not, sorry. But you were really good at staying still and didn't care about being naked, so if I need any other figure models, you'll definitely be the first person I call."

He considers, but there doesn't seem to be any reason not to say, "You should probably get my number, then," and she grins and takes it.

He's not sure what he's expecting, really, from his relationship with Clarke Griffin. They aren't friends, they don't have any classes together, and unless she has more art to get done, she has no real reason to get in touch with him. And he has even less reason to get in touch with her, so she's just another contact in his phone he never uses.

But he does kind of like her. And he'd like to see more of her.

She does say hi to him whenever she comes to the library, and they chat about classes and her art and his jobs, but he hasn't figured out the way to leverage that into longer, more private conversations, ideally over dinner. He starts going to more parties, in the vague hope she'll be there, and then feels stupid every time she isn't, because why would she be? There are at least twenty parties on campus on any given weekend, and even if they were at the same one, he might not even see her. It's an absolutely terrible way to attempt to see more of someone.

He should just ask her out. That would be the logical way to deal with this situation.

Instead, she texts him a month after he posed for her and says, _Statue's done. Do you want to come see the finished product?_

He's glad he's alone, because his face is ridiculous. _yeah, of course. when?_

And so he bikes back over to Clarke's ridiculously sketchy studio, buzzes the door, grins when she comes down with her hair in its typical loose braid and paint on her tank top. There's a bright splash of green paint on her breast, and he can't help his eyes dropping to it. When he pulls them back up to her face, he sees she's smirking. "Hi."

"Hey. Have you considered showering?"

"As an abstract concept? Sure." She unlocks the studio and lets him in. "Come on, you're over here."

"You mean Lucifer's over here."

"Sorry, yeah. I get you guys confused all the time."

She's _so_ cute. 

"I guess it could be worse. At least he's a badass, right?"

"I think the sculpture came out pretty well, if I do say so myself. But feel free to tell me if I didn't capture your essence."

"If you're going for Lucifer, I kind of hope you didn't, honestly."

She really did, though. It's even a little disconcerting, looking at the statue. It doesn't look like him, not exactly, not around the face. It looks like--how he thinks of himself. The picture of himself he has in his mind, the one that he's always disappointed not to see in photographs. It feels like being naked in a way he's never been before.

"You think it's okay?" she asks, soft, and he realizes she's nervous.

"Jesus, you should definitely be an artist," he says.

Her laugh is somewhere between relieved and delighted. "I had a really good model."

"Really. This is amazing, Clarke."

"Thanks." She ducks her head on a smile. "I meant it, though, about the model. You've very inspirational. Every assignment I've gotten this month, I've been hoping it would be a male figure so I could call you up."

"Yeah?"

"Yup. I've never been more disappointed to have to do still lifes. I love still lifes."

He worries his lip. "I mean, if you want me to come over and strip for you, you don't need a specific assignment. Call any time."

"Wow. How much compensation do you require for that?" she asks, but it's light, teasing, and her smile relaxes him. She totally wants to make out.

"For you? Free of charge."

"That's quite an offer. What are you doing tonight?"

"Ideally finding out if you've got paint anywhere else on you."

"Almost certainly," she says, and she's still smiling when he kisses her.

*

Bellamy is in seven of the pieces in Clarke's art show, and only two of them are hers.

"Wow. You weren't kidding when you said you modeled," she says. "This one is really hot."

"Yours are the hottest," he says, loyal.

She laughs and leans up for a quick kiss. "I don't know. This one is brimming with unresolved sexual tension. This artist wanted to fuck you. I already have, so--"

"You hadn't when you did the statue," he reminds her.

"Okay, there's some unresolved lust in that one."

"I'm just saying, your art is definitely the best at capturing my awesome body and incredible personality."

"Flattery will get you everywhere. So I assume you're trying to get into your own pants." She leans on his shoulder. "I should probably still be paying you, huh? You're in-demand."

"The perk of actually dating me is that I stop charging you for my time. That's why I'm your boyfriend, not your gigolo."

"Oh, that's the difference," she teases. "I'd been wondering."

"Here to help. Stick with me for nudity on demand. Art not required."

"But what if the lack of sexual tension destroys my artistic vision of you?"

"Your artistic vision of me is perfect," he tells her, leaning in for a kiss. "And even if it's not, I think I'm willing to risk it."

"The sex is just that good?"

"I'm already being nice about your art. Don't fish for compliments." And then he has to squeeze her hand and tug her close, because--he's never had a girlfriend he's so serious about before. Sometimes he just wants to go outside and yell, he's so happy, and he doesn't really know how to convey this to her. Although he mostly thinks she knows. "I'd rather be your boyfriend than Satan any day," he says, because that's definitely the correct way to express that sentiment.

But Clarke laughs and snuggles into his side, because she wouldn't be his girlfriend if she _didn't_ think that was an awesome statement. "Thanks," she says. "Means the world to me."

He grins. "Yeah. I know."


End file.
